Discovering the Waterfront
by SoulSplit
Summary: Her eyes narrowed in a challenge: You got me in here, you get me out. A little D/H ficlet. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just a short little ficlet here, nothing too serious. Please read and review, and if you catch any grammar or spelling errors, let me know!**

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to the amazing J.K. Rowling.**

Blurred lights, red and green, whizzed by their target that, she thought distractedly, just happened to be her.

Muted shouts hardly registered in her frantic mind. _How did they do it? This place was a secret; Harry was its keeper! So how, she wanted to know, the _hell _did they find it!_

Her breath came in short, labored gasps; her lungs screamed for air yet received none, and her vision grew foggy, desperate exhaustion taking over. One minute she was running, the next on her knees, gasping for breath. Silently, she wished for a miracle.

And, as it often happened with the Golden Trio, a miracle promptly arrived.

"Hermione!" She felt a pair of sweaty hands grasp her forearm and haul her up form where she was kneeling, "Get behind me, NOW!"

She spun around clumsily till she was facing the back of Ronald Weasley's russet head, hurriedly thanking any Gods who would listen for her good fortune.

He was fighting wildly, his spells flying in every direction, only missing their intended Death Eaters by inches, if at all. His eyes held a fierce determination, one that unsettled Hermione and, suddenly, she was desperate to be useful.

"Ron…" no response, "RON! Where is she?"

He paused for a moment, scanning the battlefield, instantly afraid. "I can't see her. Oh God, Mione, I can't see her!"

She nodded once and was off, leaving him to defeat the few black figures that were still standing.

She rushed towards the edge of the forest, completely focused on her new task. Too focused, in fact, to notice Neville Longbottom fall to the ground, hit by a stunning spell, and three hooded figures follow silently behind her. Thirty yards into the trees she stopped, a figure in the moonlight catching her eye. She turned and sighed in grateful relief.

Under the silver sheen of stars Luna looked more like a ghostly angel than a human. She was resting against a tree, her legs spread out before her, bent slightly at the knee. Her hands, covered with a mixture of damp grass and mud, were clutching her very swollen belly.

"Luna!" The girl turned toward the sound of Hermione's voice, and instantly her face was clouded with panic. "Luna, are you-"

But her words were cut off by a flash of red, and the last thing she felt as her face rushed to meet the ground was a hand clasp around her arm, and that all too familiar pulling at her navel.

And then she was gone,

And Hermione was captured.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Many thanks to those who have read the story so far a big hug to those who've reviewed!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, J.K. Rowling has it all.**

It was her hair that made him stop.

It was like the air in his lungs was being squeezed out, gripped by an iron fist that held his throat and fixed his eyes on the sight before him in silent terror. He would have known those cinnamon locks anywhere, and after countless hours in training and endless Order meetings, there was no mistaking their owner.

"Gr- Granger?"

For an instant, movement ceased. He saw Hermione's eyes widen in shock, and then her head shoot up in accusation and fury. Draco wanted to grab at the words but they clung to the air like lead weights: funny, how a single word can bring down an army.

_First rule: when captured by the enemy, do not give away your identity._

She opened her mouth, perhaps to yell at him, threaten him with fists or words, but stopped, her lips parted in a mute horror only fit for the condemned (which, thanks to Draco, she now was). It occurred to him then that she was doing him a kindness, saving him from her fate. _Perhaps_, her mind wondered below the sound of blood pounding through her ears, _at least one of them would get out alive tonight._

His father spoke next, "So it is the mudblood! Excellent Draco, thank you!" Lucius threaded his hand in her hair, and jerked back roughly. Always resistant, her upper lip clamped down on her lower one, fighting the painful cry that threatened to escape her throat. Draco's eyes widened, his mouth opened and shut like a fish, trying to find the words (g_oddammit, Granger, how the hell could you be so careless! How the hell could you get yourself captured? _), but holding back. If he gave away anything else about his involvement with the Order, Lucius would kill them both.

His father was speaking again, and Draco was pulled from his thoughts. "Now, my darling," He clamped his free hand on her shoulder, and she winced in defeat. "We can really put you to use. Crabbe, prepare the dungeon. We have a guest tonight." He jeered, and Draco's mind reeled.

"Draco!" He shifted his eyes hesitantly away from the Hermione to Lucius's eager eyes.

"Yes, father?"

"I imagine you'll want to watch this, son." He gestured towards the stairs leading down into foreboding darkness. There was a crazed glaze in his eyes that tore at Draco's heart, and made the pit of terror grow and deepen in his stomach. Desperation, he knew, was putting his father's state mildly, and Draco knew the taste of desperation on a weak man's tongue. He'd felt it all his life.

He nodded quietly, and, numbly made his way to the unused dungeons, his eyes connecting briefly with Hermione's. Her eyes narrowed in a challenged: _You got me here, you get me out_.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks for the views so far! Here's the third chapter.**

**Disclaimer: None of the characters or settings belong to me. It is all the property of the beautiful J.K. Rowling.**

He had to shut his eyes against the sight of her body being tossed to the cold stone floor. His father stepped forwards slowly, the grandeur of the event important only to himself and the two lagoons that, to Draco, so resembled this sons as they stood with their back to the door, wands clasped tightly in their chubby fingers.

"You know, sweetheart," Lucius leaned down to where Hermione was kneeling, one hand clutched to her stomach while the other kept her body from reeling forwards. Abruptly he stuffed his hand into her hair and grabbed roughly, sending her neck arching back. She squeezed her eyes shut and her teeth clamped down, wincing against the pain. Slowly, with a smile akin to a drunken leer plastered on his face, he let his calloused finger trace along her jaw, "It's lucky for me that you made yourself so readily available back there in the forest, else I would have been forced to take Weasley's little whore." His finger traveled down her neck to play with the collar of her shirt. Draco shuddered in revulsion. "Not that she isn't more desirable;" He chuckled darkly and leaned into her hair, "_I like blondes_." He whispered.

She had to fight off the overwhelming urge to gag, and Hermione could practically hear her heart begin to race at his implications. She tried to look at Draco, desperate for any sign of hope in this rotten hell, but Lucius's hand was still firmly in her hair. Panic threatened to overtake her senses, so she shut her eyes and practiced what years of aurorer training had taught her. Momentarily she wore a mask of apathy.

Lucius frowned at her sudden change, and he spoke again, this time all semblance of calm control gone from his voice. "Are you hearing me, girl?" He thrashed her head about like an angry child with a broken toy. She opened her eyes, feeling none of the cold fear from before. Instead, she looked into his steely gaze and glared, a threat and a promise: she would not cry; she would not scream, and if he tried to make her then he would most certainly regret it.

"Bitch." His voice rang out angry and clear, but Hermione could not respond, she was already flying through the air; unable to breathe; unable to scream. His foot had connected to her stomach with inhumane force, and she felt a warm throbbing begin to spread across her abdomen. Her back slammed against the stone wall and she slumped to the ground, dragging in a ragged breath that sounded more like a sob.

He walked towards her slowly, satisfied with himself once again. "You see, my darling, I don't want to hurt you. This can all be very pleasant if you only cooperate." She snorted, the only act of defiance that she was capable of. He paused mid-breath, his gray eyes flashing a brilliant, furious red. But that moment passed with little consequence, and in the next Lucius's wand was drawn and he was whispering one horrid, hellish word:

"Crucio."

A raw, bestial shriek filled the room, echoing off the walls, cascading into Draco's ears like a horrifying flood, killing all that lay in its wake and leaving his heart a cold shell of wasted emotion. It was so surprising, so abrupt and piercing and agonizing that for a second, one terrible second, it did not register to him that the screams belonged to her. But he _did _realize it, and in an instant he was across the room, pushing his father against the wall with bodily force, shouting words of damnation, "You will not hurt her."

The noise ceased, replace with Hermione's gasps for air, her chocked sobs wrenching and painful. He chanced a look at her. Sweat lined her brow and tears slowly trickled down her cheeks. Her chest heaved quickly, and Draco wanted nothing more than to take her wounded figure in his arms and remind her that it was alright now, he was here; he was doing what he was supposed to do; he was here and he was saving her.

Draco turned his attention back to his father's furiously magenta face. Lucius stared agape at his son, spittle running down his rapidly darkening chin. His eyes were crazed and, despite Draco's new-found courage, he found them terrifying. Deliberately Lucius closed his mouth, gripped Draco's hands in his own and pushed him with all the strength he had. Draco stumbled back, bewildered and suddenly lost. So he had done it. He had stood up to this monster for the very first time. He had (for the time being) saved Hermione, but what now? What _now_!

"Draco." His father walked to where he was standing, "What is the meaning of _this_?" He jabbed his finger in Hermione's direction. She rested against the wall, staring at Draco with- what, concern?- in her eyes.

He paused, desperately searching for the words to calm the situation and, hopefully, save his life. Yet, finding nothing, he spoke again, "You will not hurt her."

Lucius was upon him in a second, his hand clasped tightly around Draco's neck, his wand digging into his son's temple.

"And how, my _boy_," he spat the word, "do you know that?"

But Draco wasn't listening. He could feel his magic rising, threatening to boil over. His fingertips were pounding with blood, electric. His limbs burned like fire, and his heart raced. Of their own accord, his fingers pried Lucius's hand away, bending his father's fingers back till his face contorted with pain. Shock spread across the old, suddenly powerless man's face. Draco had just broken away, and with a swell of courage he told his worthless father "Because I won't let you."

He saw something in his father then that he had never seen before, and Draco felt his breast swell with confidence: it was fear. Lucius was afraid, if even for a second, that he would lose the impending battle. He was afraid of his son.

But this passed in a second, and in the next Lucius simply smiled, his eyes glinting with hatred and mirth. "Oh, we'll see about that, you traitor. We'll see about that." There was something in his voice, and a weight of uneasiness buried itself in Draco's stomach. But he was afraid for only a second, for in the next his fears came true.

"Imperio."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Many thanks to all those who have reviewed or read the story so far, you guys keep me updating. Here's chapter three, so enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I am poor and only wish I had the creativity to write the Harry Potter series.**

It was not difficult to break Crabbe's curse; he had done it in his training to be one of Voldemort's finest many times before. One minuet there was an agonizing bliss that held with it terrible possibilities, and the next Draco felt a painful shredding down his middle as he broke free. The key was to think of a reason that you wanted to be free, he remembered Serverus telling him during one of their many lessons, one so powerful and compelling that not even the greatest ecstasy could deter you. Funny, how he had only to think of Hermione.

Despite all his inclinations to turn and fight, Draco remained still, a daring plan forming in his mind. He waited till he heard the eager voice of Crabbe come to life, deep and rough, "Grab her wrists. Pin her to the wall."

He walked slowly towards her cowering figure. She was afraid now, really truly horrified, and that made Draco's heart wrench and throb inside his chest, for he knew what she must be thinking. He was going to kill her. Her only hope of survival was going to kill her.

Swiftly he caught her two tiny wrists in his and hauled her up, shoving her against the wall. She let out terrified squeak, staring into his eyes for any sign of hope. Quickly and subtly he winked.

"I want you to hold her throat and squeeze. Choke her."

Draco brought his hand to her small throat, praying that she was a good actor. Instantly she was thrashing and fighting against his loose grip. He removed his other hand from her wrist, a risky move, but his father didn't seem to notice. Hermione's efforts were dwindling with mock weakness. Her hands went limp and lowered to rest against his trouser pockets. On its own accord, Draco's mouth twitched upward.

He did not know whether the excitement had clouded his father's mind, or whether it was his own prideful arrogance that cause him to forget, but forget he did, for lying in Draco's pocket undisturbed, its handle sticking slightly out, was one of the three wands that could apparate from inside Malfoy Manor.

He felt her fingers close around the wood, and his face broke into a smile of premature relief.

Then three things happened very, very fast.

Hermione raised the wand out of his pocket; he let go of her throat and grabbed her hand. Distantly he heard his father's horrified shout of "No!"

Her mouth opened to speak the apparition spell, and with the speed of a deadly serpent Lucius pointed his wand at Draco and shouted a curse that made Draco's blood run cold.

Then all he could see was the red of his blood, and all he could hear was Hermione's voice, apparating them away.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here's chapter five. A continued thanks to everyone's support!**

**Disclaimer: It's not mine.**

"Dammit, Ron, we've been over these maps a hundred bloody times!" Harry slammed his fist into the mass of parchment littering the table, letting out a ragged cry of frustration. It was nearing dawn and he was tired, frightened, and riddled with guilt. He shouldn't have been gone; he should have stayed with his friends. He knew something was wrong, he had felt the throbbing pull of Voldemort's thoughts for weeks, planning and scheming and _taunting_, most of all. It had only been a short flight, go up through the mountains and find somewhere quiet to rest and think without anyone else. He had no idea they were attacking that night, he had no idea he had opened his mind so completely, but somehow Voldemort had gotten past his defenses. He had found the order's location, all because of his reckless, stupid decision.

"Fuck this, I'm getting a drink." He stood up abruptly, forcing himself from his pitiful thoughts, and stormed into the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of the oldest firewhiskey he could find, he made his way back to the dining room of the burrow, and his eyes were greeted with a sight they had grown accustomed to in the past few hours, each minute dragging by like the last, seconds morphing into hours as he and Ron searched for a location, a lead, _anything _that would lead them to their friend.

Ron was bent over the table, his eyes carefully scanning the layout of yet another Wizard neighborhood. His bloodshot eyes were rimmed with dark, worried circles; his face was pale with exhaustion. His disheveled, chin-length hair was carelessly shoved behind his ears; Harry could see the dirt and sweat still clinging to the red wisps from the evening's battle, and his lower lip was firmly clasped between his teeth. He was the picture of anxiety, and, though his will was unstoppable, Ron was fading, along with any hope the two had of retrieving their beloved sister.

Quietly Harry walked to his friend and grasped his shoulder. Ron's eyes met his, and he extended the bottle of whiskey, smiling a little in reassurance. As Ron took a long, desperate mouthful of the burning liquid, Harry's eyes found the map that the Weasley had been examining a moment before.

"Malfoy Manor? I thought that place was under surveillance. They couldn't get past Mad Eye, could they?" He turned the map towards himself, curiosity (and a plan) already forming in his head.

"I don't know. I'm running out of ideas. I thought-" Ron's voice was choked with helplessness, and Harry felt his chest tighten in sympathy and misery, "I thought that maybe Draco would have… I don't know. He's not a Death Eater, and I know he's in the Order, but he always hated her."

Harry ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. There were no other options, he knew. She was strong, but she wouldn't survive torture for long. Either she'd talk, and they'd kill her, or she'd die anyway. "Alright… alright. We should go, just to check it out. You're right; Draco hated her, and I don't trust him, no matter what Kingsley says. If she isn't there, he'll know where they took her."

Ron nodded once, and he stalked into the living room. Mrs. Weasley was dozing fretfully in her rocking chair, while Arthur was busy tinkering half-heartedly with a muggle telephone. He strode across the room, careful not to distract the attention of his parents. In the corner, her face drawn and pale, Luna was sleeping. Her hand still clutched at her stomach, protecting her unborn child even in her dreams. With silence and care Ron bent down and placed a lingering kiss on his wife's temple. Then, without another word, he and his friend left the room.

They started towards the back door with purpose and speed. Outside the air was chilly, but neither of the men noticed. They grabbed hands and raised their wands.

Then they heard it.

A loud bang erupted from inside the house and Ron heard his mother scream. Then there was the sound of footsteps crashing down the stairs, and the house was filled with the shouts of Order members and Weasley children alike.

Harry's head throbbed in worry, the sound of his own shouts- "Ron, get inside. Now!"- were almost too much to bear. His hand clutched his wand in an iron hold, determination to save the ones he loved his motivation, yet fear its downfall. Because he knew- he _knew_- that if the death eaters had gotten in, no one, not even him, was getting out.

He was too tired to fight, too fatigued and much too distracted, yet as he sprinted into the kitchen to face the battle and very possibly his death, he felt his skin wash to white and his heart skip a beat. Whatever he had been expecting, this certainly wasn't it.

Hermione was there, thank God, she was there. Her brow was matted with sweat and he could see her trembling from across the room. Her head lolled to one side, and it became clear that she was unconscious. Unconscious, but breathing. Harry felt his heart swell in gratitude. Around her huddled the Weasley family, Molly dabbing a wet cloth against her cheeks and George meticulously checking her for injuries.

He was so relieved that, for a moment, it didn't even register to him that no one else in the room was smiling. But eventually he blinked and realized, to his anxiety's great dismay, that the faces of the house's inhabitants were drawn and tight with worry. He took a hesitant step forward, contemplating distractedly whether he really even wanted to know what was wrong. He stepped again. And again. And again.

Then he stopped.

Hermione's stomach was covered in blood: thick, brown liquid that ran from her skin to the floor, staining the wood a sickly color that made Harry's stomach lurch.

He was at her side in a second, carelessly stealing her body away from Molly and clutching her tiny form to his body. He shook off the hands grabbing at his shoulders and ignored the voices, trying to get his attention. He lifted her shirt to her chest, revealing, despite an angry purple bruise, her skin was unmarred.

"Harry, Harry! It's not her, Harry. Its Draco. Draco's bleeding!"

Draco. Oh.

It was true, for beneath one of her arms, his head cradles in her arms like a babe, was Mr. Malfoy himself. And he was dying, fast.

Harry didn't move then, letting the other order members take Draco from the room and up the makeshift hospital on the second floor of the Burrow. He was silent for a long time, even after Ron had entered with Luna and together they had taken Hermione to Ron's room to clean her up and let her sleep. He was silent, but his mind was buzzing with questions.

The rest of the order worked tirelessly through the morning, washing, healing, worrying. Only the few that couldn't find it in themselves to care about anything but sleep were excused. Ron and Harry laying down on some makeshift beds in the living room. Harry eyes were heavy and his head throbbing in pain, but whatever he did he could not bring his mind away from the sounds of the Weasley house, each voice carrying down and echoing through his thoughts. Finally, fretfully, he rested, only to be woken up what seemed like a second later by Luna gently pushing a plate of food into his hands, insisting he eat soon.

He sat up groggily, looking over to where Ron had slept so peacefully, only to find his bed made and empty. He looked around wildly for his friend, finally abandoning the plate of eggs beside him and stumbling, exhausted towards the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Here's the last chapter, I hope you all liked it!**

**Disclaimer: I still haven't found a way to steal the rights to Harry Potter.**

Hermione woke to sunlight, a sight which, for a moment, confounded her. Malfoy manor seemed so recent, comfort so far behind her, but here she was, in fresh clothes and snuggled warmly in Fred's old bed.

Still in a haze, she lay ]still while she let herself emerge fully from sleep. Her room was silent, and for that she was grateful: her head still ached, and her muscles were sore, both after-effects of the Cruciatus-

That thought brought a tyrant of others with it.

Lucius, his hand in her hair.

Draco, under Imperio.

Herself, so frightened when he'd grabbed her, so relieved when she'd realized that he'd already broken it.

His hand and the way, even then, in the most desperate of situations, it felt right in hers.

The spell.

The spell that Lucius had yelled right before they'd apparated. She hadn't quite heard it, but she knew it'd been bad, and she knew it hit Draco.

_No._

She was up then like lightning, tearing her way across the room and into the hall, right into Draco.

"Ooph, watch it there, Granger." His voice was raspy, but very much alive, and that only brought tears of relief into her eyes. "I know you can't keep your hands off me, but I'm sporting a nice wound to go with my fantastic abs. So if you wouldn't mind..."

She quickly released him, her eyes averted and her cheeks a dark shade of pink. She felt the need to say something, thanks or a strong scold, but nothing was there, and so she kept silent, finally raising her eyes to meet his.

What she saw there was happiness, perhaps the first time Draco had ever shown it. She smiled back, her grin unmistakably smitten but, at least for the moment, she couldn't care less.

"You know," he finally spoke, "we make a good team, you and I." He winked at her, his eyes dancing with warmth.

From somewhere behind her she heard a muffled cry of discontent. She glanced around, eying her two best friends disdainfully. Harry had his hand over Ron's mouth, smiling. Ron was struggling and pointing at Draco in threat, always the older brother.

She turned back, composed and ready for this small challenge. "I think we do, Malfoy. Though, you'll have to work on your poker face if you ever hope to work with me again."

He laughed at this, another first. And nodded in defeat. "That I will Granger; that I will."


End file.
